


For Want of a Virgin

by TheOracle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack, Disappointment, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Fluff, virgins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:57:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOracle/pseuds/TheOracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Meme prompt fill. Imshael fulfils his part of the bargain and gives the Inquisitor the virgins s/he asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Want of a Virgin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunhair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunhair/gifts).



> Just a bit of stupid fluff. Gifted to sunhair for giving me an AO3 invite. I couldn't give you Solas...so would you accept some virgins?

"True to my name, I will show you that you have a choice. It doesn't always have to end in bloodshed." the demon that named itself Imshael offered.

The Inquisitor had to swallow back a snort. From previously experience, anything that didn't end in bloodshed usually wound up even worse.

"Talk." was all the reply that could be mustered.

Solas leant back on the balls of his bare feet, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. No surprise there then. When it came to spirits and demons, Solas was all ears (pun intended).

"It rarely hurts to listen. Trust is another matter entirely." his lyrical voice quipped.

"Simple." the demon responded, "We don't fight, and I grant you power. Shower you with riches. Or maybe virgins...your pick." He flashed a wicked grin, full of promise and mischief. "Then we all live happily ever after." he continued. "Well, not all of us, but who's counting?"

The Inquisitor paused, feigning indecision when he had actually decided the moment the demon offered it.

"I'd like to be showered with virgins." The Inquisitor couldn't hold back a wide grin even as Solas let out an exasperated sigh behind him. The demon scowled for a moment and then gave a defeated grunt.

"I should really stop offering virgins", he conceded. "Everyone always chooses them, and I can never find any." 

"How about...a rune of legend, inscribed by the gods, radiating forgotten magic, blah blah blah." Imshael rolled his hand lazily. The Inquisitor's eyes narrowed.

"Virgins or your head adorning my throne." was the retorted. "That's your choice."

"Fine...fine!" the demon replied. "Just, give me a few days to round some up. It's not like I've got a little room full of them lying around here, you know."

"How will I know that you'll keep your word and not just disappear?"

"I am a spirit of choice, not deceit!" he spat, full of indignance. "The choice is made. The deal is struck. You will have your virgins before the sun sets on the third day from now." Ishmael shook his head a little, and then a small gleam entered his eyes, a malicious smile spreading across his face.

"Nice doing business , Herald of Andraste." Even as he said it, the Inquisitor knew that they were going to regret this. The demon was suddenly far too happy with the choice. A snap of sound, like a branch breaking underfoot, and it had morphed into a black raven and flew up over the ruined walls and into the clear sky.

"Well," Solas said, " dare I ask what you're going to do with a shower of virgins?" The Inquisitor wasn't sure if Solas was more amused or disdained with the choice.

"I have a very large bed and it can get awfully cold at night." he said simply. "I'm sure my limited intellect will come up with something though." Shooting Solas a wink as he scowled and stalked away, the Inquisitor looked up to the sky where the demon had just departed with a smile.

*~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~*

Three days later, just as the demon Imshael had promised, a messenger arrived at the foot of the Inquisitor's throne. They proclaimed the arrival of a great gift from the mighty Spirit of Choice, the high and noble Imshael. The room quickly crowded with people and the Inquisitor shifted with anticipation in his seat, looking eagerly at the grand entrance to the hall. Just as the messenger had stopped reading, a group of stragglers scurried into the room and the Inquisitor impatiently craned up off the throne, straining above their heads to catch a glimpse of the bevy of beauties no doubt directly behind them.

The moments ticked by silently and no flurry of silken robes and shy eyes came hastening through the door. Sinking back in frustration and barely concealed disappointment, the Inquisitor turned to the messenger and hissed "Well, where the name of the Makers arse are they, then?"

The messenger turned an alarming shade of purple and with lowered eyes, motioned his head to carpet in front of the throne. Turning, the Inquisitor saw the ragged group of half a dozen stragglers, all of them squirming nervously where they stood. A couple were young men, lank and dirty, one with a large stain on his crotch which suggested he'd pissed himself recently. An older woman, wrinkled and wild who seemed to be wrestling with a couple of hissing cats she'd shoved down her mismatched clothes. A larger woman, with thinning hair crusted in dandruff, swaying unsteadily on ankles swollen with the weight of carrying her massive frame. A few others hid from view behind her bulk, no doubt of the same tone as the others.

"Of course." the Inquisitor sighed and couldn't stop from grinding his teeth as he heard Solas laugh from his place near the door. Stupid, bloody, smarmy mage. His voice piped up, carrying with lilting cadence over the heads of those present in the hall. 

"I hope your cold chambers will be large enough to accommodate such warmth, Inquisitor." Then there was a was another snicker before the sound of a door being firmly shut. The messenger cleared his throat for attention and baulked from purple to white as the Inquisitors gaze drained all colour from his face.

"There is more in the message, Inquisitor, if you would hear it." the man squeaked. Receiving nothing but a exasperated groan as acknowledgement to continue, the messenger cleared his voice to read.

"Next time, be more precise with your choice." 

The Inquisitor slumped further down into the fold of his chair, hoping to sink away into the padding and disappear. _Next time, just kill the bloody demon. In fact, always kill the bloody demons before they even have a chance to speak_ , he thought, the echo of Solas's snicker still ringing through his mind.


End file.
